Yes, Master
by Haydron
Summary: Draco buys Hermione as his slave, confident he can make her reveal Potter's hideout in two weeks. But it is only the start of a carnal lust that burns by candlelight, and top-secret to all the deatheaters.
1. Slave at the Manor

**Chapter 1: Slave at the Manor**

O

Hermione was shoved head-first into a room full of deprived men.

She looked up, and noticed all of them appraising her. Well, she could only assume they were all appraising her under the great big hoods they were wearing. Not seeing the deatheaters' faces made it doubly hard to figure out what they were thinking.

Whether to toy with her, or kill her.

Use her as bait for Harry Potter, or string her carcass in Diagon Alley to show resistors how they would be dealth with.

Hermione jutted out her chin, prepared for whatever outcome. She had risked these missions, knowing there was a possibility of being caught. There was no point cursing the heavens. She was meant to be caught that day. It was only a pity they had to drag her back here, instead of disposing of her quietly.

"Which one of you lads want to break her?" Yaxley chortled, coming up behind Hermione, and yanking her to her feet. This disagreed with the contents of her stomach terribly, and she emptied it neatly on his shoes.

"Euch, you disgusting creature!" he pushed her to the floor again. "These robes cost a small fortune!"

"Don't pretend, Yaxley," someone called out. "You took it from a dead corpse."

"Suits me," he smoothed the creases on his sleeve. "Doesn't it? Much better than some mudblood."

Hermione retched, as she thought of the poor muggle who was murdered in his own home, and stripped of the dignity of even being properly dressed. Would she share the same fate? Hermione shuddered at the thought of being randomly pawed and humiliated, even when she was long gone.

"She looks like she's already broken," someone had the gall to wryly comment.

He stood up and threw three galleons at Yaxley's feet. Needless to say, it bounced off the shiny exterior and right into a pool of vomit. Hermione didn't look, when the voice offered to take her. She was too busy pressing her forehead on the ground; and focusing on breathing.

Cries of dissent filled the room.

"Not fair, Malfoy! Why do you get to take her?"

"She's worth a lot more than that!" Yaxley spat, driving a hard bargain.

Malfoy, not wanting an argument, agreed to an offical settlement. He wasn't happy offering the Pre-19th century Boudica hairslides, but they were the only valuable items he didn't mind being parted with. Narcissa had acquired them shortly before marriage, and insisted they were cursed to anyone who touched them.

But Yaxley didn't know that.

"You, Malfoy, are pathetic, McNair shook his head. "Wasting heirlooms on a slave."

Malfoy chose that moment, to reveal his fair head to the crowd. His mouth was set in a grim line. There was no reprieve swimming in his eyes as he glared around the gathering. "This slave will crack before the fortnight," he pointed a finger at her. "Then we win the war."

Hermione had been dipping in and out of the conversation. She wasn't really paying much attention, but when the word "war" cropped up, her interest piqued and she croaked out _never. _This cast the room in a shocked silence. They all seemed to be looking at Malfoy, to see how he would discipline his new charge.

Malfoy wasn't about to loose face in the toughest environment out there.

He pulled back a leg, and kicked her square between the hipbones. This caused Hermione to loose her breath and clutch her stomach in agony. "Don't speak unless you are ordered too!" he yelled.

The shocked silence continued.

Or maybe it was surprised?

"I think we're worrying about nothing," Bellatrix gave a proud smile. "He knows how to handle trash."

This caused the room to break out in applause. Malfoy didn't let a flicker of mirth show in his armour. He followed Yaxley's example, and yanked her up by the skin of her collar, to only toss her again seconds later. "Get up," he cruelly said, "You're coming to my bedroom."

If deatheaters had the audacity to nudge each other, they would have.

_Rape? _They're eyes would've exchanged.

As it was, Hermione staggered to her feet and spat on the ground, in pretense of clearing out her mouth. A hot jinx skimmed her heels, and Hermione jumped, instinct prevailing. "Keep moving," Malfoy barked, sending another jinx. Hermione hopped again, and surged forwards.

_The front door was right there. _

But Malfoy was guiding her away from it, towards the stairs.

"What are you planning?" Hermione asked, not missing the thin veil of anticipation coming out of that room. "_Crucio," _Malfoy whispered, in earshot of everyone, and unmistakable shrieks came from the stairwell. There was a sense of admiration, the longer the spell held, and the screams went on and on and on...

Hermione collapsed; on the brink of insanity.

"Don't you remember cardinal rule number one?" Malfoy said softly. "Don't speak unless ordered too."

He lifted the wand, certain a valuable lesson had been learnt. Hermione was too weak to continue the journey herself, so Malfoy grabbed a healthy handful of hair and dragged her all the way to the second landing; to his room. He shoved her in, and slammed the door after him.

"This is suitable slave attire," he grabbed rags that were lying to the side, and pushed it into her chest. "I expect you to be wearing this when I come back, waiting to be chained by my bed."

Hermione's tearful eyes travelled from the awful clothes, to the chains lying stringently by his bed. They were thick and made of lead, something used to shackle a dragon not a person. They hung from his ceiling, but didn't reach the floor. In fact the only way she could be chained to them, were if she was hung upside down by her ankles, or by her wrists.

Malfoy sent her one last hateful look, before departing.

Hermione didn't waste a second. She threw down her clothes and rushed to the window. The latch was heavy and wouldn't budge. Malfoy had certainly put some kind of spell on it, envisioning exactly this sort of thing. When it looked like her only other escape was the door, Hermione gave up, and crept to the door handle.

She put one hand on it, testing, when she felt a powerful surge of heat bypass her nervous system.

Hermione fell cold to the floor.

* * *

Shortly after midnight, Malfoy must have returned to his room.

She woke to him pinning her against the floor, straddling her midsection. He was muttering something. "Can't even get a moment's peace. The last thing I want to do before going to bed, is undress my slave. Seriously. A simple instruction. And you couldn't even listen mudblood, could you?"

Growing alarmed at the nature of his dwellings, Hermione wriggled her arms, and found they were trapped in the blouse Malfoy was trying to tug off. She willed up the courage to sock him in the face.

But her bones were decidedly weak.

"Gee. You don't even have much of a rack," Malfoy scoffed when he finally succeeded.

Her chest was covered modestly, but she might not have bothered. There was nothing there to grab. Nothing there to see. No wonder the Weasel King looked elsewhere for a piece of ass. He grabbed the brown rags, and shoved it over her head. It was literally a shapeless potato sack that came to her knees.

Something she should be grateful to even wear.

The idea of chaining her up, made Draco almost wish he didn't have to. It's not because he had sympathy for her plight. It was more himself he was worrying about. Today had been wretchedly long, and the strenuous process of making sure every lock and bolt was in place before he went to sleep, was not a positive one.

But the alternative was much a worse one to consider.

The idea of waking up to mid-strangulation at her hands was a real possibility.

Draco wasted no time, lifting her lifeless body to the chains and stringing them up by the wrists. If the girl at any point nodded of to sleep, and slumped over, heavy pressure would be applied to them. She needed to be vigilant, and stand on her feet all night, to make it as comfortable as possible.

"Avert your eyes," Draco said humorless, as he disrobed and fell back on the silk, shirtless.

"It's a one-way ticket to Hell."

* * *

**AN: Two reviewers for the next chapter. **


	2. Light within the Dark

**Warning: References to torture.**

**Chapter 2: Light within the Dark**

O

The prickly awareness of being watched crept up Hermione's spine, forcing her to keep her eyes closed. She didn't have to open them, to know it was Malfoy, sitting on a conjured armchair, amber liquid in hand.

Occasionally, she heard his gullet swallowing , heightening the tension in the room.

Hermione internally frowned.

What was the matter with him? He had spent two hours, dozing fitfully, until demons got the better of him, and he awoke with a loud yell. The first thing he did was look over. Hermione made sure to keep her head unsupported and inclined, hoping he would return to slumber. Merlin knows, one of them needed it. And since, she had a little chance of finding these chains comfortable…

"I know you're awake." His silky tone offered no reprieve.

Hermione considered faking it for longer, but decided it would just prolong the crick in her neck. She stretched out her neck, giving a theatrical yawn.

"Better," he commented, sipping from a glass. He had been drinking for a few hours straight now. Pretty soon, it was going to show in his demeanour.

"Conscience keeping you awake?" Hermione spoke, for what felt like the first time in ages. Her voice was croaky, from the lack of use. Hermione had encountered this problem before, but it was usually down to being a chatterbox, not the other way round. "Funny, how an overnight vigil is more informative than camaraderie amongst deatheaters. You may all slap each others backs down there, but it's what happens in private that speaks volumes. I'd almost feel sorry for you, if I didn't know about your heinous crimes. How many have you killed? How many children!"

Malfoy stood up, sending the fire whisky flying into the depths of the room. Hermione flinched; but tamed her frightened outlook rather quickly. She owed it to these nameless souls, to ask these questions. If she didn't, then who else?

"What did I tell you," he threatened, clenching his fists.

"Oh, bore off!" Hermione scoffed. "I've known you since you were a cowardly 11-year-old. When you were defenceless and weak. The very quality you rely on, to exploit victims and kill them mercilessly. Except they all had one thing you didn't have."

"And what was that?" Malfoy spat.

"_Bravery."_

"Ah, yes." An ugly look overtook his pale face. "The famed characteristic every Gryffindor displayed in battle. The characteristic that can be easily mistaken for it's twin, _foolishness."_

"That's right," Malfoy, who had shrugged his shirt back on, reached for the buckle holding his trousers up. "You've been very foolish by disobeying, Granger."

For a horrible second, Hermione thought he was going to undo his fly. But Malfoy merely pulled out his entire belt in one sleek line, and tested the weight of the metal head in his hand. Was he…? She could only watch him so far, as he walked around her, and stood insanely close to her behind.

If he was breathing in her scent, he would've caught fear rolling off in waves. She trembled, as he reached for the hemline of her shift. His fingers, bare, made sizzling contact with her thighs. Agonizingly, he drew up the frayed cotton and a breeze wafted through that area. Hermione knew she hadn't washed in days. _Draco _knew she hadn't washed in days. But the humiliation she felt, as her fragrance permeated the air was staggering.

Draco fisted the material on her nape for leverage, and brought the belt down on her thighs like a whip. Hermione gave a surprised shriek, which was rapidly followed by another lash. Now Draco knew what he was looking for, Hermione was determined not to let him get it. He flagellated her a few more times, but nothing escaped past her lips than a pained whimper.

Frustrated, he decided to implement a rule.

"From now on, you must refer to me as master."

The mudblood didn't respond, too busy compartmentalising the stinging burn spreading across her regions. Malfoy whipped her again, repeating the rule.

"Y-Yes…" she nodded, delirious.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, master!" she half-gasped.

Malfoy let the sack drop back down, evolving a new form of torture. The feel of textured material, against stripped skin was horrific. This time, screams echoed around the bedroom as Malfoy deliberately rubbed the material into her thighs.

With that same breath, he cut down the chains holding her and let Hermione collapse to the ground, curling up into a foetal position.

"Ouch," he pretended to wince.

* * *

Draco left, shortly after ten, to prioritise his daytime activities. Now The Dark Lord was overtaking this world, the number of raids escalated by the day. Muggle families were fleeing their houses, and camping in all sorts of strange places.

It gave Draco great pleasure sniffing them out, and exterminating them.

He returned that night, with a scrape down his chin where a particularly insolent muggle had scratched him, as the fight died from his eyes. Bellatrix was waiting for him, tapping her foot by the banister.

"My dearest nephew," she greeted.

"Aunt," he touched the place, conscious it was bloody.

"I heard the most delightful screams coming out of your room this morning. May it continue in earnest."

"It shall."

"Has the piece of filth, revealed Potter yet?" Bellatrix rocked on her heels, portraying an indecisive mind. She had been clearly waiting to ask this question all day.

"She will."

He shrugged with assurance, confident in his abilities. All that whipping he did, was preparation for what was to come. If that still didn't work, he could always use Veritaserum on her deathbed.

"Oh!" Bellatrix suddenly gave a loud giggle. "I forgot to tell you! Old friends have come to visit! They're waiting in the Parlour!" She gave another snigger, before sashaying up the stairs, a long black drape crowning her shoulders, like she was the empress of unmentionable horrors.

Draco full-out wiped his chin with the palm of his hand, before his shoes clipped their way to the Parlour. Theodore and Blaise were waiting inside, helping themselves to his father's liqueur cabinet. They didn't rush to hide the evidence when Draco stepped in. Rather they toasted their glasses in his direction, and downed it in one go.

"Boys."

"Draco!" Blaise slammed the crystal, on top of a coffee table. "What's this I hear about a slave? Bring her out! Bring her out!"

"Lucky bugger," Theodore's gaze was appreciative. "I wish I had a slave for sexual favours. The amount of spunk that would be invested down her throat-"

"It's not sexual," Draco's eyes sharpened. "Sleeping with a foul, smelly and undeserving creature is not an option. I would rather saw off my left arm."

Theodore shut his mouth, looking chastised. Blaise leaned forward, eager to confirm the rumours. "Is it true? Do you have Granger?"

Almost on cue, a loud knock sounded in the parlour room and the door swung open to reveal a house-elf, shaking with nerves. "Master!" he squeaked. "Mistress asked me to bring slave here! She said she had a feeling you might need her!" A skinny arm travelling beyond the doorframe tugged, and Granger stumbled into view.

She looked exactly how he left her. A bloodied mess with scarecrow hair. Blaise let out a long whistle, and slowly began to clap as Granger stumbled in, and grabbed hold of an armrest to secure her footing.

Her eyesight was clearly blurred. She was trying to focus on the three of them, but a lack of food and rest, was addling her senses. Hermione took what she thought were three steps forward, but ended up four steps sideways. She tripped over Blaise's outstretched legs, and ended up in his lap.

"Merlin, she reeks." Blaise held his nose. "_Scrougify." _

Draco's mouth opened and closed. An element of power he held over her, was the fact she couldn't access hygiene. A truly nightmare scenario, if he knew anything what Granger was like. But Blaise had taken that control away from him, with a wave of his wand. _What right did that fucker have?_

Blaise was now visibly groping the girl. Hermione's reactions were lethargic. She knew she was being violated, but every time she moved a limb to form a piece of resistance, she was met with thin air or a dry chuckle near her head. Her breast was being roughly palmed, as if assessing the weight of dry meat.

"Plausible," Blaise noted. "Hey, Granger. How do you like the idea of sucking cock?"

Theodore made a noise of anxiety, quickly glancing at Draco's face, devoid of any emotion. Blaise caught the look, and threw his hands out. "What? Beating her, fucking her. It's all a form of abuse. And since Draco here is unwilling to do it…"

They were met with a quiet click of the door. Theodore caught the wisp of blond hair stepping out, before Blaise gave a loud whoop, and hugged Hermione painfully to him.

Outside, Draco was breathing hard, a single strand of hair out of place. He willed himself to walk down the corridor, and not return for fifteen minutes. But a sharp cry, made him shove open the door and blast Blaise to the other side of the Parlour, into a mirror hanging over the mantelpiece in seconds. Both Zabini and the mirror fell to the floor; shattered.

"If anyone is going to shove a cock into her mouth, it's me!" he menaced.

"OK man, I got it," Blaise groaned, clutching his nose. "You should have said so in the beginning."

"Get out." Draco couldn't stand to look at their faces any longer. Their opportunist need to shag muggleborns, repulsed him. The own words that had exited out of his mouth, repulsed him. He stared at them thunderously, until they muttered their respective homes, and stepped into the fireplace.

Granger was still lying on the sofa, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

"Pathetic!" he spat at her. "You pride yourself in strong speech, yet can't handle the attentions of two numbskulls. Useless, useless, useless!"

"Malfoy…" she whispered, and he was alarmed to see tears spring into her eyes.

"Don't you dare!" he stood over her face and glowered. "Don't you dare cry, whilst you say my name! My name has nothing to do with you!"

"Why?" she whispered, dashing them away with the back of her hand. "Does it tug your conscience? Does it make you _feel?"_

"Right," Draco reached for his buckle and undid it not for the first time today. He hadn't been expecting to discipline her till tomorrow morning, but she was getting on his last nerve. Granger exhaled a moan, when he balanced a knee on her midsection and held her knees together. It quickly turned into full-blown crying, as the belt garrotted against her shins.

Over and over. His face was turning blue from exertion.

"What's the matter?" he taunted. "You did so well this morning, keeping your sobbing to yourself. What's changed? Huh? What's changed?"

"_You!" _she half- sobbed. "_It's you!"_

Malfoy was so shocked, his arm froze mid-air and the belt hung ludicrously in his hand. He stared down at the patterns, raising up to her skin to indicated the beating he'd given her, and felt white hot rage swelling in his abdomen.

"What do you mean?"

Hermione jumped at the chance to explain her strange choice of vocalisation. "There's something lurking under that exterior. Something that can recognise the light. You never even wanted to go down this path, did you Malfoy? But you thought you had no choice."

The only way she knew what Draco was feeling, was the tautness of his shoulders facing her. She risked her life to plough on.

"Help me, Malfoy." She blinked rapidly. "Help me now, and Harry would spare your life when he wins the war."

Hermione wasn't able to see the range of expressions crossing Draco's face. First, it was disbelief mingling with hope, before that was chased by a dark cloud that descended upon his features.

"No deal," he uttered, a smirk crossing his face.

* * *

**AN: Three reviewers for the next chapter.**

**Was not expecting 8 for the 1st chapter. Thanks guys x **


	3. Nothing says it like Dinner

**Chapter 3: Nothing says it like Dinner**

O

And unceremoniously, just like that, he got up. "Follow me," he said; walking away towards the Parlour door. Hermione struggled to her feet, and rather proudly, managed to follow his instruction at a distance. Her legs were hurting like hell, but her steps were feather light, if a little wavering.

Draco snorted in derision, and opened the door.

She could pretend all she liked, but they both knew the truth.

"I'm sending you to the kitchens to prepare dinner," he was full of information. "Under watchful eyes, of course. There's no trusting a mud blood with high quality food. They'll poison it the first chance they get!"

_Oh yes_, Hermione rolled his eyes. Who could argue against that flawed logic?

She noticed he took a sharp turn to his left, down a staircase angled at a deep slope. It was frightfully tiny to look at, let alone travel across. Centuries worth of aged stone crowded the passageway, making it claustrophobic. Halfway down, Hermione found she was struggling to breathe.

Draco, the evil git, seemed to have no such problem. He shouldered the flaky, oak door and burst onto a scene, of twelve house-elves rapidly moving from side to side. Pots were bubbling, brooms were sweeping the floor unaided, and the sink was frothing with uncontrollable bubbles. Hermione squinted; making out plates and glasses, dunking themselves in and out.

"Ester!" Draco barked.

"Yes, master?" Ester, the poor thing, appeared in front of him and did a low curtsey.

"I want you to watch this creature," he pointed back at her, still standing in the crux of the passageway with a gaping mouth. "She's not to be left alone in here, understand? Put her to hard toil. Make her hands bleed. But whatever you do, don't comfort it! However pitiful this creature might look, she is beneath you. Treat it as such!"

Ester turned to her, trembling. "Miss…"

Hermione gasped when Draco raised an eyebrow, and understanding flooded Ester's weathered face. She reached for a rolling pin, and began bashing her head with startling force.

"Stop!" she cried. "Make her stop!"

"_Silencio," _Draco cast through gritted teeth. He didn't look at her, when he pushed her aside for the exit. Hermione was rendered irrevocably mute. She hurried over to Ester's side, and tried to wrestle the rolling pin out of her hands without much thought. Suddenly, Ester's hands went slack and the pin struck Hermione square in the forehead.

Hermione hunched over, doubled in pain.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Ester cried. "Mind your own business! Here -" a peeler was shoved in front of her nose. "Stand over there, and peel those carrots!"

Ester was pushing her, relentlessly, towards the darkest, most unfriendly corner of the kitchen. A mountain of carrots was sitting by the drain board, waiting to be peeled. "You have a hour!" Ester set the impossible task, deeply upset.

Hermione stared blankly at the carrots, a vein throbbing in her forehead. Being treated like a slave, made her realize exactly how house-elves were regarded in Pure-blooded households. They were second-class citizens. Not even that. The SPEW propaganda she had memorised in fourth year, suddenly was forefront in her mind.

Slowly, methodically, she started peeling the skin.

A task that was still incomplete, a hour later, when the bells started ringing for the start of dinner. Two house-elves scurried up, carrying ten plates between them, and one returned only a few minutes later. He whispered into Ester's ear, and they both stopped to watch the human, still blissfully unaware of her fate.

"Master wants you to serve," a hand tugged her shift.

Hermione looked down, sinking back to Earth. "But the carrots…" she gestured, her hand coming up in surprise to her throat. Her voice was back!

"They have already been peeled, just in case."

Another mountain of carrot skin, was sitting opposite the room. Dawning realisation fell upon Hermione. No-one was ever going to eat the carrots she peeled. The house-elves all had it under control. They were only placating their master, by setting her up with a meaningless role.

"Master wants you to serve," Ester repeated. "Only you. He specifically requested."

"Do you hate me?" she whispered, knowing the house-elves felt cheated out of a job.

"Go."

Hermione put down the carrot peeler, and tried to step away. She made a hash job of it, the combination of standing still and freshly whipped calves causing her to stumble and fall. Some of the house-elves looked ready to help, but thought better of it. Ester nudged a chair leg towards her, in pretence of scuttling back.

A small grin threatened to break free. Hermione used the chair, as a brace to stand up and walk to the exit, feeling euphoric. The other house-elf was waiting at the top of the stairs, eager to lead her to the dining room.

All happiness drained from her being; the moment she stepped inside.

"You!" shrieked Bellatrix. "Deserve to be taught a lesson!"

"Not now, Bellatrix," Lucius said annoyed. "I'd rather finish my meal in peace for once."

Wide-eyed, Hermione took in the faces sitting at the long, ornate table. Nobody was sitting at the head, perhaps reflecting the state of turmoil inside Malfoy Manor. A shiver crept over Hermione, as she wondered if that place, was perpetually always reserved for Lord Voldemort. Directly adjacent to it, sat Draco's parents, opposite each other. Lucius was currently glaring at Bellatrix, who was sitting next to her sister, and opposite her own husband.

Draco brought up the rear of the troupe, choosing to side with Rodolphus.

"Then come here!" Bellatrix snapped. "Fill up my glass, you worthless squib."

Hermione jerked in surprise.

She pictured the calamity that will one day be thrust upon Bellatrix's head.

And then she started walking, spotting a transparent jug of water sitting by Draco's hand. She bent down, to grab the handle and noticed his fist being held deathly still. Not wishing to feel the extent of a punch, Hermione hurriedly withdrew herself, and walked around the table to Bellatrix, who was holding out her glass expectantly.

Her hands shook as she poured; aware they were all judging her.

Thankfully, a single drop wasn't spilt and Hermione brought the jug back to her chest, prepared to serve whomever demanded it next.

What she didn't expect, was Bellatrix to rear her hand back, and throw a glass of chilled water in her face. "I didn't ask you for water, you silly bint," Bellatrix jerked her head to another jug, this one made from copper. "I want wine."

Hermione spluttered, wiping droplets from her eyes. Rain always made her hair frizzy, and she could feel it puffing up now. Was this a test? The crazy bitch, full well knew, Hermione was coming round with water but didn't breathe a word. What was her game?

"Bella," Narcissa warned, in a low voice.

"What?" Bellatrix shrugged, uncaring. "At least my glass got a good rinse. It's been gathering dust up here for _ages, _you know."

"Granger."

Oh, _not now. _Hermione, already full of troubles, looked up to see Draco watching her intensely over his plate. _What did he want? _His aunt was being sycophantic as it was, she didn't need a reminder of whom she truly belonged to on this table.

"There's a speck on my shoe." He challenged. "Why don't you polish it?"

_With pleasure, _Hermione turned towards the doors, prepared to run out and find some polish, if it meant leaving these people behind.

"Come round."

Resigned, Hermione reluctantly walked round the table, aware Lucius was digging into the meal the house-elves already brought. Apparently he was the only one, sane enough to gulp down some food, before engaging in light torture.

"Bend down."

Draco smirked at her, egging on Bellatrix's enthusiasm, and waited until Hermione was closer to his level. He pointed at an invisible spot on the apex of his shoe, and said it was dirty. "I want you to lick it, Granger. Lick it until I'm satisfied."

"But there's nothing there." Hermione stated simply.

"Of course it's there," Draco furrowed his brows in sympathy. "Oh, poor Granger. You can't see it, because you haven't eaten all day! Here." He lifted up his entire plate, and emptied it on the floor, near her. "Have something to eat."

"How awfully kind." Bile rose in her throat.

"Not before you pour me a glass!" Bellatrix barked, much to Narcissa's dismay. Hermione, sick of the situation, straightened up for the jug of wine. This time, she didn't bother walking round the table. Balancing herself on one hand, Hermione poured the wine to the exact volume she poured the water.

She hadn't even put the jug down before the wine, like it's predecessor, ended up on her face.

"Was that necessary?" Narcissa hissed.

Bellatrix didn't even pretend it was an accident. "Cissy, darling," she drawled. "This mudblood is an eyesore. Walking in here, how dare she! I'm going to take great pleasure in cutting her to ribbons."

Hermione was dripping head to toe, and so it turned out, was Draco. Even he hadn't been quick enough to deflect the wrath of his aunt aimed at her. Rodolphus produced a napkin from the dinner service, and handed it to Draco.

Draco snatched it, and threw it back down on the table.

Hermione instinctively reached out to grab it. Unlike Draco, she didn't have the privilege of a wand. Bellatrix, spotting this small mercy, barked at Hermione to freeze.

"Surely you should tend to your master, before you tend to yourself." she sneered.

Puerile hatred embodied her spirit. These people had nothing on the vengeance she planned for them, when Harry rescued her. Rescuing herself, was an even better option. She was never very good at playing damsel in distress, and wasn't going to break a habit of a lifetime. Hermione grabbed the napkin, and started dabbing at Draco ferociously.

He batted her away, more in surprise than anything else, but was astonished when she yanked his head to the side, by clutching his chin, and wiped the column of his neck. "What are you doing?" he choked, as Bellatrix hushed him, a scheming light in her eyes.

He swore to himself, justifying the only reason he remained in that chair, was because he was taken aback by Bellatrix's response. Nothing else. Hermione noticed a few globules of wine had landed on his lap, and she dabbed at it, a few of those jabs, squirreling against his crotch.

The breath went out of Draco.

For a few blind seconds, he thought it was twitching back in response. If it was, the world was over as he knew it. _He had tried all his life not to be attracted to mudbloods. _He thought he had succeeded. They were scum. He had a puritan upbringing, and always knew they were perforated with disease, and sticking your cock into one, was akin to it dropping off charcoaled to a crisp.

He never had the desire.

_It was a disgusting desire._

But no. He wasn't hardening in lust. He was hardening in outrage. Every bone in his body was bristling in barely controlled anger. A hand lashed out, and Hermione's wrist was caught mid-daub.

She raised her eyes, and what she saw scared her.

Draco's lips were drawn back, in a snarl, and his teeth looked like they were coated in venom. His eyes, were swirling, like a storm. And occasionally lightening flashed in those orbs.

"You degenerate bitch!" he hissed. "Get _off _me!"

Bellatrix let out a loud whooping laugh, as Hermione was thrown against the floor, right next to those dog scraps Draco had dropped on the floor earlier for her.

Who said Mondays weren't fun…

* * *

Harry pointed at the map, so hard, his finger went through. But Ron didn't chide him. Rather he shared that pinched, unsure look Hermione often sported when they were searching for the horcruxes.

Life had been miraculously well, those first few weeks after Ron had come back. Morale was high in the camp, because the locket had been destroyed, and this uplifted all their moods to normalcy again.

But then that awful day.

Hermione had woken up early to gather some herb or another, when she was snatched and easily disarmed. Harry was on the scene in seconds, but they had disapparated, leaving no clues behind. Ron had been aghast. He had spent hours, crying, ridiculously mimicking Hermione to how she was when he wasn't there.

The first time round, it had begun to wear thin, and the second wasn't much different either.

Hunt for horcruxes temporarily suspended, they had spent four days pouring over maps, and discussing possible places Hermione could be kept captive.

Azkaban was top of their list.

* * *

**AN: Harry and Ron aren't eejits, I promise. Some creative licence was employed, to give Draco + Hermione more time.**

**OoO**

**3 reviews for the next chapter x**


	4. Trip to the Dungeons

**Warning: Reference to mild sexual scenes.**

**Chapter 4: Trip to the Dungeons**

O

"How are we getting to Azkaban?" Ron asked.

Harry worried his bottom lip. "Preparations. We need to fly there. Portkeys are dangerous, and it's too far away to apparate." He could picture it now. The splinching that would occur, resulting in the mother-of-all agonies. Amputations, in comparison, would look like a piece of cake.

"Impossible!" Ron delved his head into his hands. "You're Harry Potter. They're not just going to let us walk in and remind us of visiting times politely. You-know-who has turned the dementors completely cuckoo!"

"They were like that to begin with," Harry muttered.

"No, what we need is a distraction," Ron was galloping at hundred miles per hour. "Something to avert their gaze, whilst we sneak in and have a little looksie."

"How very Tolkien of you," Harry quipped.

"Huh?"

Ron couldn't hide his bemusement.

"Oh, never mind," Harry sighed in exasperation. "I think I have a much better idea. Why don't we," he gestured between them, "Get arrested?"

* * *

It was the second night, and already there was a change in sleeping arrangements. Hermione was lead back down to the kitchen, and shown a little alcove under the sink.

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

_They couldn't be serious?_

It was the perfect napping place for a four-legged creature, but for someone with considerable height, hours of cramping lay in store. She didn't know what to make of it. From being trussed up like turkey meat, to squeezing into a confined space. If she wasn't careful, her body would react permanently to these extremes.

"Master says you are to sleep here tonight," Ester squeaked. "He can't stand the look of you."

Hermione didn't ask why.

She was feeling hideously tired, especially after not grabbing much winks the night before. "It's fine," Hermione nodded, and got down to the floor without much complaint. Ester was being continuously surprised by this human. Usually, they would be throwing a little temper, claiming how unfair life was.

"Well…" Ester hesitated. "Sleep well."

For the most part, Hermione did. She soon found her favourite sleeping position, was with her head under the sink, where the distant gurgles of the drain was soothing, and a layer of warm air hung under the basin. The rest of her body, she outstretched across the kitchen floor, a tripping hazard to any nocturnal creatures on the warpath.

She dreamt of Hogwarts.

Hogwarts at its best.

It was Christmas day, and the entire castle was transformed with bright and colourful decorations. She spotted Ron at the end of the moving staircase, and called out to him. He immediately turned; waving. "Look, Hermione!" he laughed. "You're caught under mistletoe!"

Hermione looked up, heart pounding, and found indeed that he was correct. She knew exactly what that meant. There would be no moving from this spot, until someone chivalrous enough came along to kiss her. "Wait!" the look on Ron's face suddenly turned to blind panic, and he started sprinting up the stairs. "Wait for me!"

_What?_ Hermione frowned. She was right here. It wasn't like she could go anywhere…

Suddenly the dream-like quality vanished, as Ron leapt over the missing gap and suddenly transformed into Draco Malfoy. He landed on the other side with ease, and paused to check if the button on his sleeve was buttoned.

Horror swirled in Hermione's stomach. Was she not even allowed to escape from him, in her sub-consciousness?

The warm candlelight that had washed over the scene was suddenly extinguished by a gust of wind. It was Hogwarts. But this was how Hogwarts was seen today. Only the dim moonbeams that trickled through the panes gave her any form of comfort.

Draco stepped closer, for all intents and purposes, stalking.

"Ron!" Hermione howled. "Bring back Ron!"

"Forget about him." Draco's words were soft, barely a whisper over the ringing in her ears. "It's only me now. Only I can save you…"

"Why don't you save your twerpy lines for someone who gives a damn?"

She squeaked, when he suddenly pulled her against his body. His body was hard and unforgiving, and made the few curves she hid feel very pronounced. But his eyes were embarrassingly open. There was a silent pleading hidden within those depths.

"Let me kiss you," he said delicately. "Let me in…"

Well, this was bizarre. Was she actually meant to contemplate this offer?

Draco chose that moment, to steal a kiss. It was over in seconds, but that slight brush of skin sent fire racing down her belly. He was staring at her, vulnerable, as if he was asking to do more.

He didn't need to ask.

Hermione threw her arms around his body, and fiercely hugged him, like he was hugging her. Draco let out a hollow laugh, kind of pained, and caught her face with a single hand. A whisker of anticipation flew between them, before he pinned her to the banister, and ravaged her mouth. His hands were everywhere. Touching. Caressing. His lips were nibbling on her fleshy folds, catching them between his teeth, groaning deep into her mouth.

Something warm was igniting downstairs.

Hermione broke the kiss, and gasped for air. Draco looked rather perturbed, not in a happy sated kind of way, but the look he wore back in Hogwarts when he was bullying someone and was going in for the kill.

He raised a hand, and slapped her.

"Now I have to burn my robes!" he spat. "Fuck's sake, Granger. Snogging you is not something I would choose to do willingly in a million years. Even you needed to create an alternative version of me, to come near you! How pathetic. Stop involving me in your dirty thoughts, and go shag someone insipid."

Hermione awoke bolt upright, and gasping in terror.

She had forgotten all about the sink, and that mistake came back to bite her in the arse. "Owwww!" she moaned, clutching her head aware Ester was staring at her in worry.

What time was it? It looked a little past ten. Why had she slept in for so long, and more importantly, why had no-one awoken her? This wasn't a lazy morning back at home. The people upstairs didn't regard her much highly than a maggot, and wouldn't hesitate to get her up at the crack of dawn if needed be.

"Are you well-rested?" Ester asked.

"What's going on?" Hermione griped, rubbing her head. Uneasiness was coiling in her gut, the only premonition that something unpleasant lay ahead.

"Master has handed over the reins to Mistress, after your shambolic behaviour yesterday." Ester blinked. "Mistress will be in charge of your punishment today. She has summoned you to the dungeons. Hurry!"

Hermione was hoping it would be Narcissa waiting for her, the lesser of two evils. The other possibility was too chilling to think about. But as she limped closer to her doom, it became more and more obvious which sister would relish in her misery the most.

The cells in the dungeons were being put to good use. Hermione wasn't the only muggle being treated like an animal at the Manor. A dozen muggles, men and women but thankfully no children were stripped naked and herded into corresponding cells.

They were skin and bones, lifeless eyes watching her pass without much recognition. Hermione wanted to cry. She averted her eyes to salvage their modesty, and sniffled.

Bellatrix was waiting for her in the last vacant cell, an air of expectation buzzing around her. She beamed, monstrously, the second she clapped eyes on Hermione.

"Mudblood!" she greeted. "My new favourite plaything!"

Hermione snarled, heckles up.

"Oooh," Bellatrix giggled. "Fighting, are we? So much fun! Before we begin, let me demonstrate my power." She pointed her wand through the bars, towards the motionless muggles and waved her wand airily. "_Imperio. _Act like a pig! All of you!"

The muggles quivered on their feet, as if they were unsure what to do. Hermione knew the unforgivable curse well enough, to recognise these weak signs were the attempts of the muggles trying to throw it off. But one thing Hermione knew for sure. None of them had mastered the art of resistance quite as effectively as Harry.

Slowly, one by one, they dropped to their knees and started crawling around each other with frequent collisions. Bellatrix seemed to find the grunting they produced highly amusing, and clapped her hands in glee. Thankfully she didn't spot the hatred welling up in Hermione's eyes.

"Mount her!" Bellatrix instructed, and Hermione realised with she was orchestrating.

"No!" she yelled, just as a man fiercely grabbed the hips of a female companion and jerked them towards his. Hermione gave a flying kick, and the wand somersaulted from Bellatrix's grip, as the bitch fell down. Back in the cells, the man and woman had parted ways with each other, blinking in confusion and tried to continue their impersonations of pigs.

"Death!" Bellatrix shrieked, as Hermione clambered for the wand.

"You're the one who deserves DEATH!" Hermione bellowed.

There was a fierce tussle on the floor of the cell, which Bellatrix won, by using dirty tactics like biting Hermione's hand. Hermione let go of the black Dragonstring wand, enraged and hugely irritated. If she couldn't win, then she'd much rather die. What was the point of prolonging the inevitable?

"I should kill you," Bellatrix panted above her. "I should kill you right now, but where's the fun in that? I want you to suffer, mudblood. Go insane like those Longbottom freaks."

Then she uttered the infamous spell. "_Crucio."_

Hermione had never been crucioed before, Harry beating her in that regard yet again, and could finally empathize with the pain described in all of her journals. _Beyond describable_, one account said. _Not a single inch of your body unscathed_, another attested.

It felt like hours, but could've been minutes.

At one point, Bellatrix wrenched the potato sack over her head, so she was nude like all the others. There was nothing to claw but herself - and Bellatrix - if she bothered to stay close enough, for the infliction.

Eventually it stopped, and Hermione lay on the floor, shoulders racking up and down. Her vocal chords felt raw, like she had spent her entire time screaming. Funny thing that. She couldn't even remember.

"Upstairs!" Bellatrix barked. "Don't bother shielding yourself. There's nothing important enough to hide."

Hermione rolled over, and got to her knees. Where did she even find the strength to stand? She staggered up the stairs, leading out of the dungeon, and didn't consider her state of undress until well out in the open. Several deatheaters were staring at her in unparalleled surprise and hunger. Was her creamy, disfigured skin that inviting?

"That's - That's inappropriate," Rodolphus stuttered, turning vivid red, and twirling to face the wall. Yaxley and Nott, two irksome men who had popped in for a visit, were much less gentlemanly.

"Why, boys," Yaxley licked his lips. "I do believe I found lunch."

"Bet she's got a wet, tight hole," Nott leered.

"Me first," Yaxley flicked back his cloak, and was seconds from reaching her, when he spotted something above her head, and quickly made a U-turn back to his friends. Rodolphus was still staring fixedly at the wall, not wanting to betray Bellatrix.

Hermione felt a tingle creep up her spine, even in her tired state. It was a prickly sort of awareness she recognised from her dream, and belonged to a certain someone.

"Golly," she heard Draco's impressed voice. "I've been gone ten minutes, and she's already done a bigger number than I could hope for."

A warm, slightly damp cloak enclosed her shoulders and Hermione looked up at Draco's wry face. He put both hands on her shoulders, and Hermione automatically clasped both ends of the cloak together, above her breasts. She was being rescued. Draco Malfoy was being attentive and slightly protective over her.

Was she reading into it too much?

"Come on, slave," he said jokingly. "Let's get you up to my room so I can inspect the damage more closely."

Yaxley looked like he was chewing a wasp, watching them walk back-to-front up the stairs together. Hermione withdrew into the cloak, and decided it smelt slightly musky. Was that his natural scent? Or did it come from a bottle?

The second they stepped into the room, the aura changed. It grew more threatening and frictional, a palpable cloud hovering over the room. Hermione chanced a look at Draco, and noticed he was more distant, not willing to interact with her.

The Draco who had met her at the hallway, and the Draco present were two separate entities.

Hermione walked over to the chains, and collapsed. She was shrouded in a soft bundle, and it was tempting to nod off to sleep, and ignore the residual pain always lingering in her bones. Draco, for the most part, ignored her. He went to the cabinet, beside his bed, and poured himself a glass of firewhisky.

Then he used his wand, to levitate the armchair closer to the window, directed away from her. His room faced southwards, towards the main entrance, complete with formidable driveway, peacocks and marble fountain.

He poured himself three glasses like that, watching the view.

After the third, he slammed the glass on the windowsill, making Hermione jump from her sleep.

"Give back my cloak," he said through gritted teeth. "Who said you can keep it?"

Flummoxed, Hermione thought she imagined his voice. He still had his back to her, and was fingering the rim of his glass like it was something precious. But then he barked, something along the lines of "_NOW!" _and Hermione rushed to untie the knot she had placed.

"Here!" she cried, throwing it against the bed. "I don't want it!"

"Bring it to me," Draco menaced, "And when you do, I want you to call me master."

Hermione's upper lip twitched, possibly to curl in disdain. His ridiculous need to be indulged probably stemmed from having parents who catered to his every whim. Grumbling under her breath, she fetched the cloak, and stomped as humanly possible, to the chair.

"Here you go, Master," she gave a lopsided curtsey, relieved he was still focusing far into the distance, rather than her bludgeoned body. She placed it on his lap, guessing that's where he needed it most.

"Sit on my lap and pour me a glass."

What? Was Malfoy drunk? Hermione peered at the crown of his hair, as if that gave any clue to how sober the owner was. She decided to risk perching on the armrest of the chair, and reached for the bottle of firewhisky. Malfoy held out his glass, and didn't question why she wasn't on his lap.

"Here," he gestured for her to take the glass. "Have a sip."

"I don't think I want too," Hermione frowned.

"But I insist," there was that threatening vibe again. "Unless you want to be sent back to the dungeons for round two."

Hermione snatched the glass, and took a big gulp.

"Now me," he was patient, like he was dealing with a child. Hermione gagged, and shoved the glass in his face, where Malfoy took a contemplative sip. She could hear him rolling it around on his tongue, and assessing the fiery burn of the drink. "Could do with a little ice," he shrugged.

"You were fine before," Hermione said, incredulous.

This was so unnerving. She was sitting bullock naked in close proximity to Draco Malfoy, and he was keeping his eyes on the grounds outside, or on her face, like a propitious 18th century gent. "Take a sip," he gently encouraged, and Hermione once again brought her quaking hand near the general vicinity of her mouth.

It all happened without warning.

It all happened without warning.

Draco's piercing gaze unsettled Hermione enough, she accidentally ended pouring some of the firewhisky down her chin. Half of it trickled into her hair, and the other half continued down the smooth slope of her collarbone and drizzled down her breast.

Purely out of shock, Hermione grasped Draco's shoulder to push him away. What she didn't expect, was for his teeth to violently latch onto her nipple and suck. "Malfoy!" she cried, as he pulled her forward onto his arms, and lapped at the firewhisky coating her breast in a sticky manner.

Was he dying of thirst?

"Malfoy!" Hermione repeated again, loudly. Her voice couldn't seem to penetrate through his haze. He was worshipping her breast like it was a tender, succulent piece of tenderloin laid in a spread before him. She couldn't lie. His gratifying tongue was making questionable things fizz in her stomach. But this wasn't how it was meant to be. Her first time wasn't meant to be like this!

"Stop," she hissed.

Something must have flickered, because Draco detached his mouth and let his hands drop. "What?" he shrugged. "Naked women usually means sucking boobies. A thing I'm very good at." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Merlin, you're disgusting," Hermione glared at him.

"Where's Potter?" Draco asked, smirking. "If you tell me his location, I promise, I won't detain you any further."

"You're going to give me Veritaserum anyway," Hermione realised. "That's why you're not torturing me specifically about him. Bellatrix, you, all the deatheaters. You're only doing this for fun."

"I wish I could say that was false," Draco bowed his head.

"If you don't kill me, I will try my damn hardest to escape," Hermione made a vow, even if it didn't have any magic lurking behind it. "And then I will come back, and set torch to this place. Everything you have worked for. Everything your ancestors built. It will be reduced to ash…"

"Can we finish what we started?" Draco interrupted.

* * *

**AN: Should I extend this story past chapter 10?**

**This chapter was far too long to write, but i'm pleased. Totally whacked right now. I don't think updating is even a possibility until i reach 30 reviews...so guys...up to you (lol) special mention to Cutie Pie x. **

**cheers for reading this far. much appreciated!**


	5. We could be Allies

**Warning: Contains mild sexual scenes**

**Chapter 5: We could be Allies**

O

"No." Hermione said brusquely. "I'm making a serious threat here."

"I'm sorry," Draco stared up at her. "I just can't take you seriously."

There was a pregnant pause, where they considered each other, Draco's eyes flickering downward occasionally. Hermione was thrown for words. Usually, people took her very seriously, when she had something to say, and sometimes needed gentle reminding that she could joke. One time, Lavender had jumped out of her bed when Hermione emitted a short yelp from the bathroom.

"My hair!" Hermione noticed the curls were more boisterous than normal. "I need a pitchfork to unravel this mess."

"Oh," Lavender blinked. "You should probably head over to the nearest Gardening Centre."

"_What?!" _Hermione poked her head out, hairbrush caught mid-tangle.

"It's the most logical place to find one."

"I was _joking, _Lavender. I don't really need a pitchfork."

Lavender turned bright red. "Of course I knew you were joking. I was joking back. Haha."

Though now thinking about it, maybe Lavender was being intentionally mean, to shield her growing insecurities about Ron's wandering eye. Shortly after that exchange, Lavender and Ron broke up, and Hermione never really did find out, if she was joking or not. Hermione was drawn back to the present, when Draco took advantage of her wandering attention, and lent in for a second mouthful. His hand crept up and cupped a breast, fitting neatly under the curve and gave it a wobble, smirking, as it rippled and spilled over in his hand.

"Beautiful," he gave a squeeze.

Hermione gasped at the tug, and slipped from the arm-rest. She ended up straddling Draco's knee, facing the window, with Malfoy's head propped over one shoulder. If a keen, neighbouring birdwatcher, happened to point binoculars in their particular direction at that second, there would be a good chance he would have seen tits of a different kind.

Malfoy was panting in her ear, clearly aroused, and pushing his stiffening erection into her behind. Hermione, in the dim recesses of her mind, knew this was wrong. She was only reacting physically because her dreams had lead her astray, and now believed Malfoy was the perverse, dysfunctional answer to her delayed sexual awakening.

Draco was now dropping kisses on her neck, as he kneaded her mound.

Reality was starting to trickle in.

This man was her enemy.

_Inebriated._

_Soulless._

_War Criminal._

Giving a loud Amazonian cry, Hermione slithered free from Draco's grip and grabbed the cloak sitting on his lap along the way. She needed it more than he did, and her legs were trembling again. Hermione managed to make it back to her former spot, before lethargy took over and unconciousness crept over her soul.

* * *

There was banging on the door. Hermione stirred, also cognizant to the supplementary sound of a shower running. "Open up!" came the yells of a demented aunt. "Open this door, or I shall blow it apart!"

Hermione stared at the door.

"ALOHOMORA!"

Bellatrix stood over the entrance, chest heaving, and scanning the room with heavily lidded scepticism. Certain her nephew was still rubbing his skin raw in the ensuite bathroom, Bellatrix's descent on the mudblood was rudimentarily premeditated. She sniffed at the mudblood, clearly naked under that cloak.

"I didn't hear any screaming."

Hermione was still staring.

"Draco promised me he will whip you every morning, until my ears bled in happiness from all the screaming." Bellatrix crouched down. "Why did he lie?"

"I don't know."

"He rutted you, didn't he? I can tell by one look. I don't blame the boy for taking his fill, you good-for-nothing shit, but don't get any funny ideas about breeding his spawn. This house is protected against any of that nonsense. He could fuck you, every single hour of the day, and nothing will come of it."

Hermione flinched.

"Finally sinking in, dear?"

The creepy weirdo took a strand of Hermione's hair, and took a big whiff, as if she wanted to know what a mudblood smelt like. The sounds of the shower had long stopped. The door separating the ensuite bathroom, to Draco's room opened, and a cloud of hot steam billowed out.

Out of the mist, a stern and formal individual emerged.

Draco was back to his stony best. His hair was flattened and parted at the side. Eyes, cold and uncaring. The deatheater robes he wore with pride, was slightly thicker than the ones Hermione was curled up in, and kept his skin flush and protected. If she could only remember bits and pieces from last night, Draco looked like he remembered nothing.

Although that still didn't explain why he scrubbed his skin so hard.

"Draco," Bellatrix rocked her shoulders impatiently. "I need my daily fix. Why don't you spank, and I'll watch."

Hermione and Draco reacted unfavourably.

"Aunt," he complained. "I'm not touching her."

"Why?" Bellatrix bared her teeth.

"I just washed," he gestured at his body. "I don't want to get germs on my clothes."

Bellatrix shot him an evil look, brandishing her wand, and gave Hermione a mental flashback to her time in the Dungeons, when Bellatrix tried to choreograph a rape in the cells. Disgust was curling in her belly, a standard response that was becoming more common. Draco was arguing his case more heatedly now, and Hermione dared to hope she was witnessing an uprisal.

"Aunt, you're asking me to drown in disinfectant."

"I don't care."

Draco cursed under his breath, and went over to the bed. "What the hell," he muttered "Slave! Come here, and lie across my knee."

Hermione scoffed.

He didn't get a chance to react to that, before Bellatrix leapt in and clouted Hermione across the face. Her lip burst on contact, but she valiantly tried to keep the shock from taking over her expression. Even though she wasn't feeling it, Hermione had to put forward an image of self-control and assessment of what was going on around her. Maybe this would be her saving grace.

"Enough!" Draco snapped. "I can discipline my own slave, without your added input, Bellatrix."

"Show me."

Malfoy sat down hard on the mattress, and spoke in a low voice only meant for her. "Granger. I'm not going to ask you again. Come lie on my knee or I'll let my aunt take over the reins."

Bellatrix remained crouched by the chains, and watched beadily as the mudblood bitch finally complied. Hermione wore a thunderous expression, as she lowered her abdomen across his knees and met the witch's eyes directly. Draco brought his hand down hard, on her cloaked rump.

"No," Bellatrix choked. "Flesh."

Malfoy snarled. He pulled up the cloak, till it was hitched around her waist, and again brought down his hand with power. Hermione yelped, the smack forcing a blood rush to her left buttock, and leaving an imprint of his palm behind. Hermione's eyes watered, and again she was fighting feelings of degradation as Bellatrix watched.

She had to be touch to survive this.

Draco spanked her again, and she knew he was counting down as much as she was. This made it slightly better. Even though she had no sympathy for the git, at least he wasn't relishing over her surrender. The next slap was alternated to her other buttock. As her hips involuntarily jerked, a pool of liquid gathered between her legs.

A second later, her arousal hit the air and Draco's nose twitched, smelling it.

This was even worse.

Hermione buried her head into the duvet covers, unwilling to look up any longer, and tried to ignore her folds coated with slick discharge, as the smacks continued raining down on her arse. Eventually, they petered out, and Draco pulled down her cloak with a perturbed face.

"Get out," he ordered Bellatrix.

"My pleasure," she cackled.

She swanned out of the room, flicking her hand in an appreciative wave and heading towards the stairs. Draco stood up, causing Hermione to fall, but not before she saw a visible tent in his trousers. Clearly, he wasn't unaffected as he portrayed. "Merlin," he looked up at the ceiling. "Whatever I do, I'm always forced to touch this mudblood. I wash to get rid of her muck, but within minutes, the ritual is rendered pointless."

He touched himself through his pants.

"Why do I even bother to resist?"

In full view, he loosened his buckle slightly and reached inside his undergarment. His hand moved around until it grabbed his dick, and then he pulled it upwards, towards his abdomen and strapped it under his belt, so there was no longer a tent but a constrained bulge. Hermione closed her eyes, not wanting to see this image. She already had it bad, she didn't need further ammunition.

"I have a meeting now." He announced to no-one. "Great."

She listened to his footfalls till they reached the door, where they paused, and then left the room. It was then, she allowed herself to quiver. What was happening? This was going so wrong. Draco was not someone she even respected, and yet he was making her react in unexplainable ways. _What was it? _What was it, that was turning her on? Drunken groping? Malfoy spanking her like it was a chore?

She clutched the cloak around her, and scrambled to her feet.

"Hem hem…"

Hermione twirled.

Ester was standing by the door, holding a platter of items that looked incredibly useful. When she caught Hermione's attention, she put the silver plate down and started individually pointing to them.

"Salve, Potato sack, A few slices of bread - nothing fancy, and a jug of pumpkin juice."

"I don't even know where to begin," Hermione clasped her hands. "This is wonderful, I never expected you to come round to openly liking me, and disobeying your master! It's OK, Ester. I'll give you something to set you free. Or trick the Malfoy's into setting you free-"

"This isn't my doing," Ester interrupted. "You are a beguiling human, I must admit, but to risk giving these is more than my life's worth. No. This is Master's orders."

Hermione was too hungry, and ill-dressed, to contemplate what that possibly meant.

* * *

It was an important meeting, Draco could tell that much. All the deatheaters had gathered in the Dining Room, and he would have missed them entirely, if he hadn't felt his mark burn. He stepped in, and took the seat closest to the door, grateful he had his hood to shield under. Bellatrix was arguing with Rodolphus, who would never come to understand what a nut-job his wife was.

The burn on his arm was foolishly persistent.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape slink in, and inconspicuously take his seat at the table. Snape was a master of deflecting attention. He had the fiercest loyalty to Voldemort, being the one to kill Dumbledore, where Draco could not.

"Silence!" Bellatrix called from the end of her table. "I have important news!"

"We all know what it is," Yaxley said in a bored voice. "The Dark Lord is returning to the Manor."

"Watch your tongue, Booth," Bellatrix hissed. "Before I sever it off, and let dear Nagini feast on it."

The rest of the deatheaters stopped whispering, and started at Yaxley, who had gone white as a sheet. Draco straightened in his seat. If Lord Voldemort was returning, that meant it was because a significant development had occurred back here. He had no doubt, Bellatrix was regularly filling him in, spying on the others and reporting her own good work back to the Dark Lord.

For sure, this had something to do with Hermione. It was very likely Voldemort was preparing to question her himself, to reveal Potter's hideout.

"I shall be the only follower to greet him," Bellatrix ordered, a topic that wasn't too hotly debated by the others.

Draco stood up. "May I be excused?" He didn't even wait for an answer, before he was briskly walking out, and back out into the Main foyer. Nobody came out, and called for him to come back. Why would they? He was the youngest deatheater to be recruited, his presence meant very little to those besides his family, and Lord Voldemort.

He took the stairs, three at a time and burst into his room.

Hermione was sitting by the window, staring forlornly into the distance.

"He's coming." Draco revealed abruptly.

"I know."

"How?"

"Observation," Hermione inclined her head. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out something of magnitude is occurring. I just saw ten or so deatheaters apparate outside the wards and make their way in."

"Ah."

"Whatever happens," Hermione hesitated. "I stand by my verdict from earlier. You're not all evil, Malfoy. We might even be allies in a different set of circumstances."

"Don't push it," Draco warned.

"Your aunt is a different matter, on the otherhand."

* * *

**AN: Ten days of not updating (gasp)...but good news! The next 2 chapters are already written.**

**I could update now, tomorrow, next week...let me know.**


	6. Illuminating Thunderstorms

**Chapter 6: Illuminating Thunderstorms**

O

Harry and Ron had a plan. It was a foolish and risky plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. After they picked hair locks from unsuspecting muggles, they used the remaining stock of Polyjuice Potion, from their jaunt to the Ministry, to transform themselves into anonymous individuals.

"Why do I have to be the woman?" Ron grumbled, parting his waist long blonde hair in two, and peering out. "I'd much rather be the man."

"Does it matter?" Harry reached out and grabbed Ron's wrist. Interlacing fingers were a bit too much, even though they had to pretend they were a lovestruck couple.

"Yeah, it does. Do you know how hard it is to wear knickers?"

"Nobody said you had to steal them from a washing line, Ron."

"What?" The blonde woman grew defensive, snatching her wrist away from his grasp. "I was just getting into character!"

"Stop it," Harry hissed, noticing three deatheaters already paying them an unhealthy amount of attention. Ever since Voldemort took over the Ministry, he hadn't hesitated in sending guards to several magical locations including Hogsmeade, St Mungo's and Diagon Alley. Their presence reminded the day-to-day shoppers to keep in line, or risk being carted off to Azkaban as Muggleborn Sympathisers.

The Alley looked completely different from the year before. Several shops were boarded up, and the main ones that stayed open, had a dim procession of people trickling in. Harry's favourite store - Quality Quidditch Supplies - no longer housed brooms in it's window display.

"But I'm sticking to our agreement," Ron whispered back. "Make a scene so they arrest us."

"Time to ramp it up a gear." Harry noticed the three deatheaters had gone back to playing cards in front of The Leaky Cauldron, no longer suspicious. He raised his voice so it would carry over the cobblestones. "Where does all my money go, Charlotte? What man wants to come home from work, and find his wife wearing stolen knickers? The neighbours are all complaining! Don't you dare deny it, woman."

Ron turned beet red. "You're making the argument about _this?"_

"Seriously," Harry continued, embracing the role. "This has to stop. Your kleptomanic tendencies have become out of control. Mrs Cartwright came knocking at my door, claiming her lace undies were missing and you were the culprit."

"And you believed her?!" Ron yelled.

"Of course I did!"

Harry's face jerked to the side, as Ron slapped him. "How dare you call yourself my husband! Is she your bit on the side? Well, she's welcome to this fat, lardy mess who deserves a good wash-"

"Excuse me."

The dangerous voice of the person interrupting them, made Harry and Ron take stock of where they were performing and rapidly shut up. This wasn't the theatre of dramatic arts. Their arguing had destroyed the deathly peace, and brought the entire alley to a standstill.

"Have you crawled out from under a rock?" The deatheater asked, identity shrouded in secrets. "You don't just speak like that here. Both of you. The time of the Dark Lord is rising and death to all those who disobey."

"Sorry."

"Sorry, isn't going to cut it. Give me your papers!"

Ron made a show of patting down his robes, and raising his head to meet the eyes of the deatheater's tentatively. It looked like a feather had been caught in his eye, when he attempted to flutter his eyelashes. "Hehe, oops? It seems like I've left it at home."

The deatheater made a noise of disbelief.

"You?" He turned to Harry, whom answered the question with a shake of his head.

"Then," his voice sliced through the air. "You are invading marked territory without proper authorization. The only sentence that fit's the crime is life imprisonment at Azkaban, to repent for your sins."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks of reserved apprehension. They had managed to infiltrate the ranks of Azkaban, but at what cost? There was a slim possibility Hermione might not even be there, and taken somewhere else, which would take them back to square one.

* * *

Dark clouds rumbled, signalling the arrival of Lord Voldemort was imminent. Hermione was staring out of the window, as rain lashed against it. The man who she had come to uneasy truce with, was sitting in the armchair further back in the room, contemplating the shift in power that would occur when the Dark Lord arrived.

"I think he's here." Her voice sounded very hollow.

"How do you know?" Draco came to stand behind her, unintentionally close, in pretence of looking out the window. _See, another side of him_ (Hermione thought.) His tone of voice indicated, he was feeling apprehension but it was second to being duty-bound. The hair on Hermione's nape stirred, as his hands slowly came out and brushed up her arms.

"What are you doing?"

"I regret it has to be you, mudblood, but a little contact is needed."

"Light-headed, already? Honestly Malfoy, you have no stomach."

She didn't push him away though, and that was a telling sign. Despite a few hiccups, Malfoy wasn't entirely unsalvageable. He had been forced down this path, and now thought it was too late to retrace his steps. That assumption was partly correct. After this war, whichever way it swung, Malfoy needed to be held accountable for his crimes.

So for all their sakes, it better be Harry!

"Look," Hermione said softly, "Train your eyes to see through the darkness. Just beyond the gate, there is a shadow darker than all the rest. It's him, I'm sure. He's checking the presence of all the wards, before he reveals himself, and his followers hurry to cloak their laziness."

"Hey!" Malfoy decided it was only right to take offence, on behalf of all the deatheaters.

"But it's true," she peered up at him, and his eyes dipped to her lips. "Ever since I've been captured, I've sensed almost a jovial wave of glee sweep around these halls. No-one has made any serious attempt to question me. They just want to inflict physical agony, as if they are prolonging my fate."

Draco shifted uncomfortably, as if he knew a secret piece of information he couldn't divulge. Hermione didn't dwell on it, and switched her attention back to dark shadow.

"Here, he comes."

Downstairs, the door opened with a bang and Bellatrix dipped low, waiting to greet him. Voldemort stood over the threshold, and he reached up slowly to remove his hood. Bellatrix was transfixed. Her master was framed against the blackened sky, cutting a lonely figure.

But in that solitude, there was strength. Voldemort closed his scarlet eyes, and flared the slits that represented his nose. It seemed like he was taking in a deep breath, and smelling the change that had befallen the Manor since he departed.

"Bella," there was a pleased note in his voice. "I hear there's been progress."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Tell me."

"Potter's closest ally and helper was captured this week, my Lord. We sensed Potter was close by, but was unable to track him, that slippery brat. As of yet, we have not questioned the bitch, like you instructed. But the mudblood scum has taken quite a beating," she smirked.

"Good," Voldemort's eyes rolled deep into his head. "I wanted to be present at the questioning that would yield Harry Potter. That boy has evaded my clutches for far too long, and Dumbledore isn't even here to protect him! I want this done by tonight."

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix bowed again. "I'll get Draco to bring her."

She yelled out loud for a house-elf, and instructed it to relay the message. The house-elf nodded and apparated straight into Draco's room. For a painful second, the grip on Hermione's arm tightened, and she heard his throat furiously working as if holding back sobs. But it was a figment of her imagination, as Draco whispered in her ear: "It's time."

"Finally," Hermione said sarcastically.

"You've been looking forward to it?"

"Not really. I look forward to homework and reading books. But we're not speaking relatively, are we? Taking that aside, I'm rather open to a change of circumstances right now."

"Well, you're getting it."

Hermione coughed, and looked at the door, as if pointedly asking Draco to lead the way. Why wasn't she procrastinating? Draco wasn't particularly looking forward to meeting Voldemort, and they were on the same side! Sighing, Draco kept a firm grip on her arm as he walked to the door, and held it open for them both. Despite how pro-active she was inside the room, he noticed a definite reluctance as she climbed down each step.

"Come on," he jerked her down.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered.

"Not quick enough," he jerked her again, until they were finally standing in front of the Parlour, about to go in. Hermione remembered the room vaguely from when Blaise had tried to grope her a few days ago. Back then, it was cold and vacant, but at least brightly lit.

Now, there was not even that. The fireplace had been extinguished, and the thundery atmosphere outside made the room grim, and dark, and gray. Hermione felt a chill creep up her spine, even behind Draco's shoulder. Voldemort was staring at her; excited and barely contained impatience on Lucius's favourite armchair.

Bellatrix was standing behind him, holding a vial.

"Veritaserum," she confirmed. "Draco, give this to that bitch. It might quench her thirst."

Draco turned to her, eyes dark.

"I don't want it," she pleaded. "Please don't make me drink it."

"I thought this was what you wanted," he growled, stretching out for the vial. "The set of circumstances that had befallen you to change? So why don't you open your fucking mouth, and do as your told."

"I can't _willingly _take it," Hermione said, scandalised. "That defeats the purpose of being a captive!"

"What is she rabbiting on about," Bellatrix glared. "Force feed the potion."

Draco, under the scrutiny of two seniors, was not planning to fail. He pinched Hermione's nose, and poured the entire vial down her gulping throat. He placed a hand under Hermione's jaw, and jammed it shut, not wanting her to spit it out, and ruin months of careful brewing.

Voldemort leaned forward in his chair.

"Place her in front of me. There's so much to ask."

Hermione, now under the influence of truth serum, was docilely lead to the spot in front of Voldemort's feet and forced to kneel. She didn't even flinch when Voldemort shoved his ugly head right in front of hers. He really was a strange creature, bald but serpent-like.

"What is your relation to Harry Potter?"

"I am his best friend."

"Are you the same mudblood, who was with Potter in Godric's Hollow at Christmas eve?"

"Yes."

Voldemort leaned back, a foul look in his eyes. He was clearly remembering the trouble Nagini had to go through, just to isolate Potter, and call for her master. It was also the place Harry had accidentally dropped the picture of Gellert Grindewald, and often got visions of Voldemort tracking the former Dark Wizard down in the nights before she got kidnapped. Hermione's eyes flickered. Had the mission been successful? It was hard to tell. The excitement Voldemort displayed, could be put down for a number of reasons.

"What has Potter been doing since he left Hogwarts?"

"He's turned into a fugitive. After Bill and Fleur's wedding was ransacked, he set up base in Grimmauld Place. After my stupid mistake, the house had to be abandoned, and we travelled from camping site to camping site."

"_Doing what?"_

"Searching."

"Be more specific, mudblood!"

"We don't know. It could be anything."

"Does Potter know about my…" Voldemort paused, as if he remembered there was two other people in the room, and shook his head. "Impossible. Potter wouldn't have gone that far. Nobody knows about them."

Hermione continued listlessly staring at him. Inside she was screaming and raging in hopelessness, knowing Voldemort was referring to Horcruxes, but grateful he wasn't asking the right questions for there to be a slip of the tongue. There was so many pitfalls with this scenario. Voldemort could ask if there was any other travel companions and she could reveal Ron's name. He could ask if Dumbledore had given them anything to win this fight, and cryptic answers about the Peverall brothers would flood out.

If she betrayed Harry, or any of his secrets, she would never forgive herself, even under duress.

"So the hundred galleon question," Voldemort licked his lips. "Where is Potter currently hiding?"

"Lake District," she replied.

"Right!" Voldemort barked, causing Bellatrix and Draco to jump. "Bellatrix summon Lucius, Severus and Wormtail and apparate to the Lake District. Draco, you're coming with me alongside that mudblood."

Draco grabbed her, face grim.

Hermione wanted to cry, but the serum was still having an effect. She followed them through the hallway, into the storm chopping and churning the clouds outside. It was the first time she had ventured into the great outdoors, after a few days, and she realised how much she yearned it despite the horrid weather.

Draco took hold of her wrist, and he in turn, was taken by the wrist by Voldemort.

Hermione didn't miss the visible shudder that ran through him.

They spun in darkness, and was spat out on the shores of the infamous Lake. Up north, the weather was more tranquil, and thankfully dry. The surface of the black lake rippled, but otherwise lay dormant. Voldemort pointed a wand in her face, and ordered her to whistle-blow Harry's location. Praying, Hermione hoped the boys had done the sensible thing, and moved on to avoid discovery.

Draco was following them quietly. He was still holding onto Hermione's wrist, and was shivering slightly, regardless of wearing the thickest cloak out of the three.

"Is this it?!"

Voldemort demanded, after Hermione came to a standstill after some gentle trekking. It was a good camping site, perfect to pitch up a tent, and there was even dead firewood that was slightly warm to the touch, but no inhabitants. "Potter's not here," he said, calm. Too calmly. "Where is he?"

"Realistically, far far away," Hermione said dreamily.

Behind them, the other deatheaters were catching up. Hermione's eyes widened, especially when she saw Snape, her potion's master up till fifth year. In a way, she mourned him. Snape was evil, and disrespected the trio constantly, but when he wasn't plotting Dumbledore's death, he was actually a fair and competent teacher. Snide remarks not included.

Draco had always been Snape's favourite pupil, but the greasy slime-ball had never purposefully doctored Hermione's grades, and always gave her a _O. _Clearly he recognised intelligence when he saw it. Snape saw Hermione, and faltered a little bit. But he soon caught up, until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Bellatrix, Lucius and Wormtail.

Wormtail, the little rat, was avoiding her eyes and Lucius looked bored.

"Draco," Bellatrix hissed. "Come stand in line."

Her nephew still remained next to the mudblood, holding her wrist. Hermione felt oddly grateful, he hadn't abandoned her side and left her staring into Voldemort's pitiless soul alone.

"Avada K-"

"NO!"

Draco, not knowing why he did it, instinctively held out his hand. Automatically the weight of everyone's gazes fell on him, including Voldemort. He had just stopped the Dark Lord in the middle of a spell. In the middle of killing someone whom they were all supposed to hate. Already pressure was crowding him, forcing him to come up with an explainable justification.

But that was thing. Why_ had _he stopped this murder?

He had killed mudbloods before, and if anyone dreamed of stopping him, then they too were slayed. Draco felt sweat dripping down his nose. This had to be a good answer.

"We can't kill the mudblood yet. She might be of use."

"Like what?" Bellatrix scorned.

"Like…Like…" Draco's mind searched in desperation. "She knows a great deal about Potter and the limited skill-set he is developing to overthrow the Dark Lord. If we pick her brain carefully, or even use her as bait-"

"Yes," Voldemort murmured. "The boy speaks sense."

Snape's eyes flickered from Draco to Hermione, and then closed, as if he was suitably grateful the situation was over. Draco slowly dropped his hand, and at the same time, let go of Hermione's wrist. He was trembling, inside and out, but kept his lower lip still. "What should I do now, my Lord?"

"Take the mudblood back to the manor. Tomorrow, Britain will be met with the most interesting headline."

Inwardly, Draco blinked several times.

"Right…uh…"

"That's your cue to go," Bellatrix hissed.

Draco gave her an irritated look, before grabbing hold of Hermione's sleeve, and apparating back to the Manor. He didn't let her go, until they were back in the bedroom and confronted the reality of Draco's intervention.

"I need to chain you up," he said, "I'm sorry, but I have too…"

"You're scared," Hermione spoke the truth, even though no longer compelled too. "You're scared of what happened back there."

"And what _did _just happen back there, huh?"

"You saved me."

"_What?"_

"You feel something for me. Maybe it's not downright appreciation, but you must acknowledge you don't want me to die, even though I would have happily embraced it!"

"Stop talking like that," Draco snapped. "Like you're some kind of fucking martyr, which by the way, does not wash in this household."

"So why don't you admit it?"

"There _is _nothing to admit - what are you doing?" Nervousness crept in Draco's voice as Hermione inched closer to him, certain she was reading all the signs. Draco wanted her, although he disguised it very well. Hermione couldn't pretend she wasn't the same, at least physically. All those numerous times he had saved her (all right, two - three, if counting the time he had traded Boudicca hairslides in auction to prevent Yaxley getting his hands on her) was having an affect. Despite still holding him in high disregard, the prospect of kissing him was becoming more and more appealing.

Hermione shook her head. This was probably slave mentality, but she also wanted to explore his penis.

Fisting a healthy handful of Draco's cloak, Hermione pulled him down, and snogged him passionately. The Slytherin was a little slow to react, but keenly opened his mouth and drew Hermione's tongue inside. It was like all rationality had been flicked off with a final switch.

He pushed his hardened cock into her stomach.

"Let's do this," he snarled.

* * *

**AN: The next chapter is short and full of smut. Please skip if you wish.**

**Reviews are important, love you all**

**x**


	7. Behind Closed Doors

**IMPORTANT!**

**NO UNDER-AGED READERS. I WILL BE SO PISSED.**

**Warning: Major lemon ahead. Believe it or not, it's the "clean" version. If anyone wants to read the dirtier one, visit AdultFanfiction, and look up my name.**

**Chapter 7: Behind Closed Doors**

O

Draco pulled the shift away from her arms, and placed a tense kiss on both of her tits. "Is that how you define _this_?" she asked, trying to sound forbidding. Malfoy ignored her laughable attempts at trying to intimidate him, and yanked her wrists up to be chained. She was fucking tempting looking at him like that.

"At the very least, scrougify me."

Draco didn't think twice about complying.

"_Accio bed_," he summoned, and the bed skidded across the floorboard, and he lifted up Hermione's legs just in time, so the bed could scoot under her. As she pondered the fuck-worthy position she was in, Draco reached into his pants and pulled his penis free. He kicked the remainder of his clothes off, and rushed to clamber under Hermione, so he could feel her ass seated on his abdomen.

Hermione blushed.

Well this was virgin territory.

"Let me out," Hermione wriggled.

"Are you sure you want this?" Draco panted.

"Only if you let me out!" Hermione demanded, aching to get her hands wrapped around his balls, and make him see stars.

"I can't let you touch me," sweat beaded across his hairline, undermining the effort he was trying to use, to keep his hands twitching by his sides. "It's a…rule that I have. No touching."

"What…_ever?" _Hermione stared down at him incredulous, and Draco groaned, the knowledge she wanted to use her hands to stimulate him a heady one. Slowly, on his terms, his hands brushed up her thighs and he growled, using magic to haul the bed down vertically, so suddenly Hermione was straddling Draco's Malfoy's face.

"_Oh."_

Hermione stared down at him, wide-eyed.

Draco finally let her go, with an arrogant smile. He folded his arms behind his head, and used the same magic, so she was seated in her former position, practically on top of his swollen dick.

"That was…That was…" Hermione gasped.

"Mind-blowing?" Draco grinned, before it fell away and his gaze sharpened. "But it's far from over. I know you're ready, Hermione. Acquaint yourself with little Draco, or quite-big-the-lucky-bugger Draco as I put it, to reap what you sow."

"But I'm a virgin," she panted, strung up, and sweat trickling down her wanton and heaving breasts. She certainly didn't sound like one, when she was mewling on top of his face a little earlier.

"That's why you're on top," he smirked. "So you can slide yourself down at your own pace. I'll try my very best not to thrust up, I promise."

"Well…" she licked her lips. "I suppose I could give it a go…"

"Hurry."

Hermione couldn't lever herself backwards without her hands, so used the chain to swing herself slightly back, until she felt something hard brush against her core.

Merlin, it was fucking glory to see.

Draco was watching her like a hawk. "Take your time," he encouraged, but the message hidden between the lines was clear: Take your own time _after _you've sat on it.

Trembling, Hermione lowered herself till she felt the very tip, pressing against her. This was the business end.

To his testament, Draco didn't bury himself in with a powerful surge.

This was all about Hermione. It was her first time, and she knew what she was comfortable with. But it was starting to get harder to reason why it was good to wait, though. Fuck, this felt good. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

"Am I hurting you?" Hermione asked, looking concerned at the pained expression on his face. "Should I…?" She went to empty herself of him, but Draco shook his head.

"More!"

"More?" Hermione was at half-length now. "Like this?"

"Keep going!"

Hermione was beginning to feel stretched now, a bit unpleasantly, but to feel a swollen organ inside her felt amazing. If her hands were unchained right now, she would have perched them on his chest, and used them as a guide to sink her in. But now all Hermione was relying on was the straining muscles in her thighs and Draco's self-resistance not to do any harm.

She stopped, unable to continue.

"I don't think I can do it," she panted. "It's starting to hurt."

"This bit always hurts," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Just get it over with, by doing it in one fell swoop. The pain will fade away, I promise."

Hermione considered his words, and decided there was an element of truth behind them. "Okay then, on the count of three." Now she was grateful for the chains, because it allowed her to curl up her arms around them and brace herself. "One, two, THREE!"

Hermione drove down hard, and sat down hard on Draco's abdomen, so he was temporarily winded. The girl above him was making noises in pain, but the longer she sat, the quieter it became. After a while, the only thing that broke the silence, was the heavy panting they both shared. Draco couldn't stop staring at her breasts, hypnotised by the way they quivered. Next time, he would have them.

Hermione, on the other hand, was starting to realise the severity of the situation.

"What do I do now?" she asked tentatively.

"Move," Draco instructed, even though it was killing him not to be doing anything. "You know, up and down."

"But won't that hurt my knees?" Hermione wrinkled her nose, as if this cockblock was intentional. Typical Hermione to be worrying about arthritis, when Draco couldn't look past her naked tits. So all right. Part of his instruction had a voyeuristic quality to it, but if it made him cum all the more potently, than good for fucking him.

"Just do it."

Hermione, again using the chains, levered herself slowly up, so inch by inch his member was revealed to the visible world. Quickly, Hermione as if in mourning, reached the very tip and came back down again.

"Good," he ground out. "I don't think I can last long."

"Me neither," Hermione grimaced. She used the last reserves of her energy, to wrap her hands around the chains multiple times, and started moving. Her tits were moving too. Draco with his hands behind his head, focused on those succulent nipples toasting the air, and alternatively switched his view to the connection point of their bodies.

"Oohhhhh," he moaned, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the image. "Fuck, baby. Don't ever ask me to give this up. Not when it feels this good."

Hermione's eyes were closed, her face exerted. The pain was long gone, and now sensual slickness was paving her way to the second orgasm. Draco was doing a lot of muttering, but his husky low voice, punctuated by an interrupted groan, was beyond hot.

He was reaching close to completion. So was she.

Hermione shattered first, as she slammed home for the final time, her trembling walls gave way to a giant rolling shakes, that shook everything inside it, including him. Hot seed shot straight up, and branded her crotch as his. The orgasm lasted surprisingly long, so when the ripples faded away, Hermione was staring down at him.

There was panic in those eyes.

* * *

**AN: Move along...Nothing to see here.**


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